Of The Sorrows
by Lady Jennifer Malfoy
Summary: There is only one rule in the game of seduction: Never. Fall. In. Love. Slightly AU, HBP spoilers & DarkRomance
1. Chapter 1

**Of The Sorrows**

by: Shotgun Wedding x

**Chapter one:** Black and White

_Dear Mr. Malfoy, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for your 7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all classes available to seventh years based on their individual O.W.L.S scores, and all necessary books and equipment. Also enclosed is a list of your prefect duties for this term. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall _

_Deputy Headmistress_

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Draco Malfoy groaned softly to himself as he read the oh-so familiar school letter. It was just another year at Hogwarts, and finally, his last. In a way, Draco didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. He didn't need girls like Pansy clinging to him, the golden trio running around bothering him, and most likely, the soon to return nagging of his "dear father." He also, definitely did not need the stares, the accusations and the inquiries again. His entire sixth year had been a fiasco. He had failed the Dark Lord. He couldn't go there anymore, it was bad enough Snape had stolen his glory. Just like always.

Things had gotten much quieter for Draco following his sixth year and Lucius' escape from Azkaban and retreat into hiding. He wasn't there to push Draco around anymore, and constantly torture him. Over the summer, Draco had pretty much fended for himself, as his mother hardly left her rooms anymore, when she wasn't out at some party or get together trying to restore the Malfoy name – which was just fine for Draco. He'd never had "real" parents – not the loving kind anyway. Sure they spoiled him with gifts and sweets, but Draco couldn't ever recall either adult telling him they loved him. It seemed that their idea of "love" was very different from those families Draco had to witness every year on platform 9 3/4. But the youngest Malfoy was a stranger to his thing called "love" – so much that it didn't look like it bothered him. It also seemed that each year Lucius became stricter, always finding something more about Draco that he disliked. It reached the point where Draco contemplated giving up. But the demands got more and more erratic, and Lucius was became nastier to Draco with each step he took. Draco had started to challenge his 'whatever Father says' state of mind even further.

Of course Draco wanted to be respected in his father's eyes, and wanted to be the next great Malfoy… but his mind always seemed to falter. _Did_ he want to stay a pawn in Lucius' schemes forever? _Did _he want to branch out of his "cage", so to speak, and start a new life out of Hogwarts, free of his father's reign?

Yes, that was it.

Out of Hogwarts— once he graduated, he'd be "liberated". He'd be legal. Whatever choices Draco made were his and his alone. If by chance they happened to reflect any of his father's, they were made of his own account. The day he left this castle once and for all was the day he left a new man. He wasn't much of a killer anyways. His mother had tried to warn him, but then he hadn't listened. Being a Death Eater just wasn't what it was cut out to be. He hadn't become a full-fledged Death Eater, and he already didn't like it. To much discipline.

But he couldn't.

No, Draco couldn't just up and start over like that. It was near impossible. His whole life was in Malfoy manor. In the shadow of his father, and his father before him (Araxas Malfoy.) There was no way he could leave without paying the price. He'd lose everything, and he wasn't sure he was ready to risk it. All his life people had made his decisions for him, managed his money, and waited on him hand and foot. Without that… who knew what would happen. Yet, they'd all think he was weak if he continued to bow and bend at Lucius' will. There was no way Draco was weak. At least, that's what he thought.

"Tipsy!" Draco called, more so demanded in a harsh tone as he pocketed the Hogwarts letter.

The house-elf named Tipsy came staggering towards Draco through one of the many rooms of the house. It had taken over Dobby's position sometime ago. It was apparent where the elf had gotten his name. It seemed Tipsy had a balance disorder, and slurred and stuttered speech. It was like he was drunk, but wasn't.

"Y-yes Master D-Draco?" the sniveling pathetic off-balance creature asked the blonde wizard in front of him. Tipsy was dressed in the customary sack, which had various spills and stains on it, and was struggling to stand without swaying.

"Tell mother, when she returns I've gone to get my school supplies," Draco drawled, he hated speaking to the elf, it was beneath him. These filthy creatures were worse than Mudbloods. In fact, they should have all been slain along with those of impure blood.

"And if you forget," he added sharply, not bothering to hide the distain or malice in his tone, "I have a new pair of socks just for you," Draco finished, enjoying the animal's cowering for a few moments before Disapparating in a snap.

An hour later, Draco had finished shopping for his books, and was briskly sauntering through the streets of Diagon Alley, books under his arm. His supply list was tucked neatly into the cover of the top book, _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_

Just as Draco moved to turn a corner, a girl, no older than him, rushed around the corner in the opposite direction. The force of the impact left Draco lying on the street, his books sprawled about him. He just lay there wishing that it hadn't happened, and mostly that no one saw him make a fool of himself. He had to keep up his impression. The girl, who had been picking up her one book, was now bent over Draco.

"Are you alright?" she asked, brushing a lock of straight chocolate coloured hair out of her eyes. Draco stared at her for a moment, dazed and confused, then sneered.

"Bloody hell woman, do you always come barrelling around corners like that?" he hissed, glaring as he spoke. The girl blinked at him a few times, before backing off and standing, her book under her arm. Draco stood quickly as well, using a simple summoning charm to get all books back to his arms.

"Its called, I wasn't paying attention. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she answered, her tone was a bit snotty and filled with attitude. She attempted to fix him with her own glare. Her eyes were dark, to match her hair, and almost as black as the pupils. Her stare was sort of…penetrating, like a fire burning through Draco, and he wound up staring for a few more moments before shaking his blonde head in disgust.

"Well, pay attention to this," Draco retorted, making a very rude hand gesture with his free hand, before turning and storming off to the nearest shop, which happened to be the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't catch the girl's reactions, but he imagined it wasn't pretty.

The youngest Malfoy actually was hungry when he entered the Leaky Cauldron, and although he knew he shouldn't have, he took a seat near the back. Lucius had never allowed Draco to eat at the Cauldron. He thought it was a filthy place for the common breed. Draco could remember a few occasions when Lucius had instructed him, upon leaving, not to eat at "that establishment". Completely ignoring his father for once, and following his stomach instead, Draco ordered the simplest item off the menu. No one would care anymore. The worst damage Lucius could cause now was strictly verbal, not like he could show up at the Malfoy Manor anymore, being an escaped convict and all…

The blonde moved his newly bought schoolbooks onto the seat next to him. While he was doing so, a passer by bumped right into the seat, knocking his purchases to the ground.

"So sorry sir," the wizard apologized, before continuing again, not even stopping to pick the books up.

"Stupid lout," Draco mumbled.

The book that previously was on top, lay on the ground in front of him, cover wide open, the parchment from before hanging out. Draco didn't even give it a second glance before picking it up, yet something caught his eye. The label read, _This book belongs to, Deirdre Ashcroft, _not, Draco Malfoy, not a blank space, not even Gambol and Jape's bookshop. There was no way this was a second hand book, oh no, not with Draco, but he just didn't know why someone had already written in _his _book. How dare they!

Just then, Draco noticed the parchment had fallen out of the cover, and was lying in his lap. He looked down, it wasn't his school list. He groaned. He must've taken the wrong book when he fell. With slight curiosity, but more so annoyance, he read it. It was a journal entry of some sort, yet it wasn't dated.

_He frightens me. _

_I don't like being this alone. It frightens me too. They're all horrible and creepy. So much tougher and stronger and bigger. I don't know how much longer I can handle this. This time, that man made it clear that it was sink or swim, pass or fail. This is the man that terrifies me more than the others; he's ruthless, hard, and cold. He will surely do something drastic if I fail him. _

_---D.A. _

"Ahem."

Draco looked up from the parchment he had found. It was the girl again. Her dark eyes were icy, uninvited, and seemed violated when she saw what Draco was holding.

"I believe that belongs to me," she said bitterly pointing, rather jabbing the air, at _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7. _She had the same one in her hands.

"You're the clod who nearly killed me aren't you, where's mine?" Draco answered with a sneer.

"Just give me my book, and writing back."

"You will return my possession to me first."

"Ugh, fine," the girl growled, slamming the big black book in her hands down hard on the table in front of him. Loud enough to get a few stares. She wrenched the parchment from Draco's grasp before he knew what she was doing. It almost tore.

"Hey!" Draco hissed, "see, what your doing? Causing attention!"

"Perhaps, if you had cooperated the first time, you would have stayed out of my personal business, and I would have stayed quiet," she snapped, taking her book from him as he handed it to her. It was obvious she wasn't as interested in the book as she was the parchment.

"Who are you to be reprimanding me like that, _Miss_?" he answered harshly, accenting the word "miss" fiercely, as if he thought she were low life scum. To him, she was.

"And who are you to ask that question?" The girl snapped back, preparing to walk off, now it was her turn.

"A Malfoy," Draco hissed. For a moment, an odd expression crossed the Witch's face. She stared at Draco, as if remembering something. _Probably got word of the whole Dumbledore_ thing Malfoy thought.

She opened her mouth to say something, and then shook her head, coming back to earth, and sneered, "Get over yourself."

"What may I ask, is _your_ surname?" He responded, annoyed.

"That's none of your business," the witch snarled, and turned on her heel, stalking off to the other side of the restaurant, where she met up with a man who looked almost like her, except older, and meaner. From what Draco saw of her, her demeanour changed completely, like she was afraid and had to suck up to the man.

"Bloody witch," he mumbled, shaking his head.

His mind questioned the writing he had found. Was it the girls? Her name was Deirdre he guessed, from the tag inside the book, and the initials fit the tag perfectly. So it must've been hers. He thought it pathetic that she seemed so afraid of things, what was so bad about "the man". Draco let it slide from his mind as his meal appeared in front of him.

An owl was perched on Draco's windowsill when he returned to his quarters that night. It was the owl his father had been using to send messages to Narcissa. Draco regarded it was curious eyes; he thought his father basically forgot he existed. It was probably a mistake; whatever the owl was carrying was for his mother.

The boy ignored the owl for now, shaking his head as he set his books into his school trunk at the foot of his bed, and took off his robes. It screeched at him. The ugly grey thing was definitely a screech owl from what Draco could tell.

He winced. "Bugger," he muttered, moving to the animal and snatching the letter from it's talons. The address was to him, not his mother. "Bloody brilliant," he said sarcastically, rolling ice blue eyes. The owl waited with large yellow eyes, fixed on the boy in front of him.

"Oh sod off, you worthless beast," Draco hissed, shooing the owl with his hand. In response, the owl flapped its wings, a talon slashing the air as it took flight. The gesture caused Draco to vaguely remember the hippogriff incident, from his third year. He pushed the owl out with more urgency, closing the window behind him. With an irritated sigh, Malfoy fell back onto his large silk clad bed with the parchment in hand.

His mind wondered as to what the letter contained. His father usually never gave any good news. Draco was tempted to throw it straight into the fire, and let it burn. Watch it smoulder into ash, leaving whatever news Lucius had go up in flame with it. After all, no news is good news, right?

Yet, Draco still opened the parchment, eyes fixated on the flourished ink before him.

_Draco, _

_My Lord is in need of new recruits, with a war underway. The topic of your future merely came to me as a thought, and I brought it upon My Master that you would make a worthy conscript with a bit of training. He graciously accepted to give you another chance, on the condition you know where your loyalties lie. _

_On the other hand, you failed his last mission miserably. How dare you attempt to avenge my arrest by trying such a foolish stunt. I fear you've tarnished the Malfoy name; the Potter boy will have rumours and accusations buzzing around shortly. As well as the ministry, I am ashamed to hear you had to answer questions in front of the ministry. Its sheer luck you got your pathetic self out of that one. The Malfoy's, who have always been one of the most influential and feared wizarding families because of the Dark Lord, will now be known as not having the backbone to kill an old defenceless man! I wholeheartedly expect you to go once more to the Dark Lord's side as his servant who will NOT fail or you will regret this decision horribly. As well, you will receive the Dark Mark once you can prove yourself not a coward. It is your fate. In my opinion you have no choice. _

_--L. _

He knew this was coming. That was it. Draco always knew there would come a day when he was asked to take on the Dark Mark and join the league of Death Eaters. He'd always thought he'd eagerly accept. He'd please his father, he'd rid the world of scum, and he'd restore the Pureblood name. Yet, in such black and white terms, Draco was torn in two. Trying to complete one simple mission; get the Death Eaters into the castle, and kill Dumbledore was much too painstaking. Too much work for Draco.

His eyes felt like they were burning a hole through the parchment, memorising the letter down to each punctuation and flourish of an "l". Death Eater. Non-Death Eater. Death Eater. Non-Death Eater. It was such a haunting question, jeering out at him, unfolding itself like a scorpion ready to strike if he chose the wrong answer. He was teetering on the edge of a cliff, with life or death his only options. He searched his father's writing again for clues--anything to trigger a reaction.

_" It is your fate. In my opinion, you have no choice." _He read. His eyes narrowed. He wasn't just some pawn that could be written a certain way to fit his father's needs. No, Lucius didn't control him. Draco was sure of it.

Of course Draco was smart enough to know what would happen if he went down the wrong path, his father would go ballistic. He knew the risks he would face. He'd be safer joining The Dark Lord.

But there was something about it that didn't sit right with him: a lifetime of service, under his father. He wasn't Lucius – he was Draco. That's all they'd ever expected him to be, Lucius Malfoy the second. No one saw him for his own person anymore. In the corridors at Hogwarts, it seemed a shadow followed him everywhere. The shadow of his father and the choices his father had made. Because his father had gone and escaped from Azkaban, it was Draco who was just as dark and evil as Lucius. His teachers even eyed him warily. Slytherin's admired and were more afraid of him as ever, which may not have been such a bad thing, but it wasn't because of him. It was from the man before him. The man who wanted to control his every move. Draco was trapped. The cliff was crumbling beneath him as he reached for blank parchment and a quill.

_Dear Father…_


	2. In Dreams She Came

**Chapter two: **In Dreams She Came

**Disclaimer:** I am a slave to the Potter universe, sadly, I do not own it. That belongs to Goddess, J. K. Rowling. Nor do I own any lyrics or references used throughout this piece.

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His Hogwarts trunk slammed shut as Draco Malfoy sighed, sitting on top of it with his hands on his knees. His bedroom was eerily dark; the candles in their silver serpent shaped holders on the wall flickered in and out of life. The fireplace across the room didn't seem to blaze with as much grandeur as normal. Behind him, the lush green and black four-poster bed didn't seem as comfortable as it should seem. Overall, every noise Malfoy made appeared to echo throughout the dark stone of the room as if reminding him of his father and the choice that he had finally made.

"Another bloody year at that damned school tomorrow," he mused to himself, sneering at the noise the grandfather clock in the hallway made as it chimed twelve times. He really should have been asleep right now, to get a good start at his new term tomorrow. As Lucius always told Draco, _"Sleep counts for first impressions. Impressions are everything." _

There he went again, always thinking about Lucius. It was just another bit of proof that he lived his life in the shadows. _Stop it, Draco,_ he told himself; _What's done is done. You made your choice. Not him._ This last sentence, somehow made him feel more confident; he'd done what he really wanted, regardless of his father's plan for his son's life. At least, he thought he did what he felt was right for once. From that day forth, his life would run the way he wanted. At least he'd hope so.

"What has the bastard ever done for me?" Draco muttered to himself. The answer came flooding back to him in an instant: manipulation, control, cruelty, hate, derision – the list went on. In the corridor, there was a portrait of Lucius in all his majestic brutality. Draco hated this painting with every fibre of his existence; it scorned him whenever he passed, making shrewd comments about anything and everything. The painting even went as far as to criticize him for not completing his mission to kill Dumbledore! He'd gotten so frustrated by those nagging remarks, that he'd even tried to curse the painting. However, it didn't work out too well, as spells wouldn't work on a painting. It was his own personal reminder of the man that haunted him constantly. One of these days he planned to take it off the wall while he was sleeping and burn it.

Sleep. That seemed a sight for sore eyes. He hadn't gotten any in the past few days. He was always kept up, thinking about the letter. It caused him so much trouble, so why had he written it?

His life.

It was true to Draco, that technically it wasn't a huge detail, but standing up to his father and finally making his own choice, was quite an accomplishment. It was his new life, his freedom. And oh how he was waiting for that freedom! But such things were only a dream at the moment, he'd taken the first step, and now he had to get through an entire final year at Hogwarts without being completely shunned (due to what happened in his sixth year) first.

For the second time that night, Draco sighed again, as he changed into suitable sleepwear and collapsed back on his bed. Sleep was like a fantasy at the moment, but he was sure as bloody hell going to try to get some rest this night - especially with a long final year ahead of him. His lavish green silk sheets and bedspread enveloped him in the feathery softness they contained, and soon Draco found he was actually asleep.

_Those eyes. Those piercing eyes. The very gaze he'd seen in his sleep for a week at the least. They set his heart on fire. They knew everything, boring into his very mind and soul. He wanted them to be blank, cold and lifeless. But then again, he wanted them to stay. He wanted to see a glimmer of joy in those eyes. Did he want them to stay or go? He couldn't decide. The air was filled with a melody – the girl was singing. He tried to listen to decipher the lyrics. _

"_Now that I know what I'm without _

_You can't just leave me. _

_Breathe into me and make me real _

_Bring me to life. _

_Bring me to life. _

_I've been living a lie _

_There's nothing inside. _

_Bring me to life. _

_Frozen inside without your touch, _

_Without your love, darling. _

_Only you are the life among the dead. _

_All of this sight _

_I can't believe I couldn't see _

_Kept in the dark _

_But you were there in front of me" _

_The lyrics were eerie, but the voice singing was beautiful. He'd never heard anything quite so like it before. He wanted to speak, to compliment; yet his voice was dry. It was then she noticed him. _

_In a fleeting instant she was in his reach, a smirk across her delicate face, and in that moment he felt lust, love, hate, anger, hurt, passion, and bliss. He believed it was…happiness. He was caught in the moment, not wanting to let go. Yet she was gone again, like a butterfly, never landing close enough to hold, always fluttering just above the surface. Suddenly she blinked, and those eyes were filled with fear. That gaze that set him on fire was ice. She screamed, pointing. But he couldn't turn around. She yelled to him, mouthing something he couldn't hear. She ran and screamed again, falling to her knees as she watched a cold silver blade sink into the boy's stomach. The last thing he saw, were her eyes; those sad, crying eyes._

Draco sat up with a start in the pitch-blackness of his room. "Not again." He groaned lightly to himself, wiping sweat off his forehead. His stomach hurt, like something had stabbed him. He'd had the dream again. The same damned dream he'd had for Merlin knows how long.

_It's the same girl from Diagon Alley,_ he thought. _The ruddy scum she is – now she's in my sleep._ Draco sneered at this, did he really need some dumb girl to be in his dreams suddenly?

In particular, it was the song the girl had sung that vexed him. The lyrics… what did she mean by that? That he was a coward? Surely not! That he was weak? Draco refused to believe it. Dreams were just stupid images that meant nothing anyway; it wasn't anything to worry about. His major problems were: getting to school, and escaping torturing glares from the Gryffindors, getting back at Potter, and figuring out a way to stay away from his father and the Dark Lord. It was going to be difficult without having Snape there to favour Draco anymore. Of course, with the Unbreakable Vow, Snape had to have done it. There was no choice. Draco knew that currently, he was hiding out with Lucius and the Dark Lord, basking in the glory that should have been his. Yet now, Voldemort thought of Draco as a weakling, as a nobody – and Draco thought it best not to try and regain that favour. This was exactly why he had declined his father's request that he go back. He didn't want that fame and glory anymore. He didn't want to be manipulated into doing dangerous things at the cost of his life. He liked his life, thank you very much. And he didn't want to be trapped in his father's cage any longer.

_"I've been living a lie."_ He didn't know how, but that chilling line seeped into his line of thought suddenly, and a shiver ran down Draco's spine. A memory of crying in the boy's lavatory flooded his mind. Instantly, he thought of the weakness he had shown, and how his father would have been ashamed. Then he thought of the horror and the terror he had felt. He feared for his life, his family's life. He was reminded of the stress, and how he had felt so hopeless, so confused. This was the Draco only his thoughts knew, the Draco he wanted to hide from the world. But then Potter had to enter the scene, and now he would forever be labelled a wimp. A failure.

Failure wasn't acceptable. He'd be disowned for such a thing (Yet he was sure he was heading that way anyway). He just was never good enough for anyone. To Lucius and the Dark Lord he was too weak. To Narcissa he was too young. To Snape he was too cocky. The comments never ended. Draco groaned to himself as he sat on the edge of his large bed, head in his hands, tearing at his blonde locks. Another slight chill went down his spine from the frigid air hitting his bare chest.

"If I don't get out of here soon I'm going to go bloody insane," Draco groaned to himself. He'd hidden out with Snape for a while, but high tailed it back home when he heard his father had escaped. He didn't want Lucius to start bugging him yet again.

More memories flooded back to him and he shook his head, vision a bit blurry. With a yawn, he collapsed back on his bed. Hopefully into a dreamless sleep.

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"Foolish girl!" growled a voice, coming from a tall imposing man with brown hair, and a rugged look about him. The girl who had fallen to her knees before the two adults cowered, bowing her head with her dark brown hair spilling to the stone floor. The room was a large hall it seemed, with a large elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, providing the only light in the room. Shadows reverberated off the walls, flickering in almost a spectral way. The only noises in the room that could be heard were the voices of these three people and the occasional tapping of the third man's cane on the floor. Although the hall was lavishly decorated there was nothing in the room that suggested happiness. The statues and tapestries on the walls portrayed only bloodshed and death.

"S-sorry f-f-ather…" the girl answered him in a quiet, timid voice that was barely heard. The blonde man scoffed at her.

"You must remember to put her in her place Avery… I doubt this little wench knows the complications of the task at hand," he drawled, twirling a black cane around in his hands.

"Yes Lucius, you are quite right," the man called Avery responded, nodding his head slightly.

Lucius these days was much thinner, having escaped from Azkaban with the others and was looking a bit worse for the wear. Yet he could still make himself so imposing and malicious looking that the teenage girl in from of him whimpered, trying to back up a few steps on her knees. Even with his more ragged looking appearance, she was deathly afraid.

"Look at me girl," he snarled, hitting her on the side of the head with his cane. With a yelp she looked up, her dark eyes wide with fear. "You realize, that you are to complete the task you have been given or die," he snarled, face contorted in pure loathing of the girl in front of him. She nodded obediently, although a larger spark of terror flashed in her eyes.

"Deirdre, go then. And make haste to get to that rubbish pile of a school, the train leaves tomorrow at 11am exactly" The man called Avery growled, and the girl, Deirdre, struggled to her feet and she ran, tripping on her way out, so as to cause the two gentlemen to laugh mockingly.

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(a/n: I'd like to credit the amazing band Evanescence for the lyrics used in this chapter. The song is titled "Bring Me to Life". But I bet you knew that. )


	3. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

**Chapter three:** Innocent Until Proven Guilty

The Hogwarts Express sped down the track towards Hogsmeade Station right on time. Students on board conversed merrily within its sheltered compartments, free of interruptions. The chatter among the adolescents was mainly revolving around the summer, and of a new term. One blonde student in particular, slunk away from his "friends" – if you could call them that – and was currently occupying his own compartment.

Draco Malfoy was currently sprawled across the seat in his empty compartment, head resting against the cold windowpane. For once, he'd gotten rid of Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. That was until they realised he had left them. The group was constantly by his side and although they could be useful when he needed things done for him, they got on his nerves sometimes. At least Blaise was more of an equal.

Then again, he was lucky to be here. It was a lucky chance for Hogwarts to even be open. The Wizengamot had wanted to expel Draco for his actions of the previous year. Draco glanced out over the vast country terrain outside the window as he thought back to his trial. What a nerve racking day that had been, in front of the entire Wizengamot…

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"The charges, as follow, concur with Mr. Draco Abraxus Malfoy, aged seventeen years, resident of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. The interrogation will be led by Rufus Scrimegeour, Minister of Magic. Witnesses for the prosecution are Harry James Potter. Witnesses for the defence are none. Mr. Malfoy you are charged with helping Death Eaters into the castle, attempted murder of the first degree, and service to You-Know-Who," read a stout-faced man to the left hand side of the minister. Percy Weasley, the closest to Draco, was already scribbling away, his quill making eerily loud scratching sounds on parchment.

Draco looked up from rigid wooden seat he was chained to, staring blankly at the faces of the Wizengamot. It was his first time in this dungeon ever, the cleanliness and formality of it all bothering him just a bit. He no longer welcomed so much attention, all the eyes staring at him and such. However, his facial expression showed no emotion what so ever. He knew he must never show sentiment to the world.

Mr. Scrimegeour stared down at him with a lion-like gaze. His eyes were of the oddest appearance, neither cold nor warming. His voice was rough as he spoke.

"You are Draco Abraxus Malfoy, are you not?"

"I am," Malfoy replied in a steady tone, his voice icy.

"Your family has a history of service to the Dark Lord, are you aware of that?"

"Of course," he hissed. Yet his expression was still blank all the while.

"Did you by means of Vanishing Cabinets, smuggle Death Eaters into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Draco once more nodded, yet did not speak. A few witches in the back row seemed to whisper animatedly to each other about Draco, making large and flamboyant hand gestures as they did. Thus, earning the annoyed glances of those seated around them. Scrimegeour seemed pleased that Draco was acting so cooperatively.

"Were you, or were you not, servicing the Dark Lord on orders to assassinate one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?" Scrimegeour asked, his expression slightly on the fierce side, looking solemn.

"I was," Malfoy responded, his voice not faltering at all, holding his silent staring contest with the Minister. More whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. A few ladies even uttered little "Oh mys!" here and there.

"Are you under alliance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named at the present time?"

Draco paused a moment, his gaze shifting purposely around the room before focusing back on the minister.

"No," he answered simply, raising his eyebrow as if daring Scrimegeour to challenge him on that question.

"Show us your left forearm," Rufus stated firmly, the left shackle on Draco's chair loosening for him. Malfoy rolled his eyes, but rolled up his left sleeve and raised his forearm. There was nothing there except smooth pale skin.

"Very well, what do you plead?"

There was silence once more, as Draco hung his head, white-blonde hair spilling into his face. He looked as if thinking whether to plead innocent or guilty. A few moments later he looked up, but made no move to fix his hair.

"Innocent."

"Rubbish!" exclaimed a bald wizard in the middle of the stands. The other members of the Wizengamot seemed to agree almost instantly. The evidence against him was incriminating. There was no way Draco could talk himself out of this one without help. The minister sighed, a look of annoyance crossing his lion-like features.

"Mr. Malfoy, how do you intend to clear yourself of all charges when you've no witnesses for the defence, nor denied anything related to the evidence, besides not being a Death Eater?" he asked, as if he was bored. He stroked his mane of a beard with another sigh.

Draco was at a loss for words. Yet, his expression was still as cold as ice. He had once said he didn't care if he was expelled, but his mind had changed once he realised what his father really wanted for him. Heck, it was a wonder that the school was even being kept open. Originally, the governors planned on closing the school until the war was over, but in the end, they had found Dumbledore's will. It had been written, that should his time come in recent events, Hogwarts should stay open for the good of the students, and that Minerva McGonagall should take over as Headmistress. Dumbledore had also written a short note that proclaimed his wishes that Draco be aloud to return to Hogwarts if he wanted to. It was, to Draco, perplexing as to how Dumbledore had known any of this before hand. Yet Dumbledore had told him that night how he'd known all along. All along, and Dumbledore had still wanted to help Draco…

"…he threatened to kill me." The words shot out of Malfoy's mouth before he even knew that he was saying. Inside, he knew he shouldn't have said a word, yet he did. "He said he'd kill me and my whole family." Every trace of colour was gone from Draco's pale face now as he spoke. He finally realised what he had done and stopped speaking immediately.

The Minister nodded. " I see…" The silence in the dungeon like room was almost unbearable, and Draco wanted to scream, holler, break something – anything to break the silence.

"Witness for the prosecution? Please rise," Scrimegeour said finally.

Draco looked over now to Harry, his pointed features instantly contorting into the natural sneer he wore when Potter was around. For a moment, the gazes of the two met, and Draco was taken aback at how Harry's hate-filled look was almost… understanding of Draco's situation.

"Sir, I believe Malfoy is innocent."

Harry had thought long and hard about this while watching the trial. At first, he wanted to tear Malfoy to pieces, limb by limb, the Muggle way, and listen to his cowardly whining… but his conscience wouldn't let him. No matter how much he loathed the blonde wizard before him, he wouldn't resort to that type of behaviour. As the trial progressed, Harry had grown sombre as he remembered his former Headmaster. He had a copy of Dumbledore's will in his hands, and he had read it so many times that the edges of the paper were ripped and tattered.

Everything Dumbledore has said that night rang in Harry's thoughts. Malfoy wasn't a killer. Voldemort had just threatened him and his family. He'd seen Malfoy crying about not being able to do it for Merlin's sake! But then again, what about Slughorn's party? Draco's talk with Snape? Surely, he had wanted the glory and praise from Voldemort then… and Harry I hated /I Malfoy. All he ever did was torment and ridicule Ron, Hermione, and himself. He came from a horrible background too. It served him right to be expelled, maybe even take his father's place in Azkaban. That would teach him not to be such a slimy git…

But thoughts of Dumbledore centred in Harry's mind again, and Harry was leaning towards the conclusion that maybe his Headmaster would like it if he threw the Slytherin a break. A second chance – just as Dumbledore was prepared to do on that fateful night. He would have wanted Draco to return to Hogwarts, cleared of all charges, and start over…

"I'm not doing this for Malfoy. I'm doing this for Dumbledore," Harry stated clearly aloud, "I was there…er...in the tower that night, as you all know. And when Malfoy barged in, you could tell he was nervous by the way his wand arm… er...shook. Albus Dumbledore chatted casually with him though, even in the face of death. _'You're not a killer,_' he said to Draco. Then Malfoy admitted why...um...he couldn't accept any help, or come to the light side when Dumbledore offered. Said Voldemort threatened to kill off his family. If Dumbledore, a master Legilmens and world's greatest wizard, was prepared to trust Malfoy and give him a second chance, why shouldn't we?"

"I also eavesdropped on Malfoy...erm...crying to Moaning Myrtle in the boy's lavatory once too. Real shook up it seemed, shaking and all that. He confessed everything and I overhead him. I don't think he wanted to have anything to do with it by then, Sir. Snape's the slimy arse you should be after, Malfoy's really just a coward," he reasoned.

Once Harry had finished, the entire Wizengamot was ablaze. Wizarding folk whispered vivaciously to one another, using their arms for dramatic hand gestures to Harry and Draco. Hardly more than a third sat quietly, just processing what was said. Draco looked up at Potter, not able to mask the look of shock on his face. Even more, he thought he saw a smirk on the boy's features, which quickly turned to a look of loathing. Harry also quickly flashed a lewd hand gesture, causing Malfoy to sneer back and mutter a few choice words under his breath_. That speech could have just saved me…"_ Malfoy thought, _"but this won't change a thing..." _

"Very well, thank you Harry. All members of the Wizengamot vote Mr. Malfoy's innocence?" Scrimegeour finally asked.

Time seemed to slow in the musky confines of that dungeon room, as Draco watched as what looked like half or more raised their hands. A few members looked hesitant, but he watched as they glanced at Potter before actually raising their hands. So St. Potter really did have quite the influence in this courtroom.

"All those against?"

This time, quite a few hands shot up into the air, their owners glaring down at Draco with disdain etched into their faces. Draco couldn't see everyone in the room, but he hoped that those who had voted him innocent were triumphant.

"Hmm…I see…Draco Abraxus Malfoy, cleared of all charges."

--------

Draco sighed, his hands running through his silky blonde hair as he remembered that day. His father had scolded him endlessly through letters after that for days. Even the painting in the hallway decided to comment every so often. Malfoy was shocked as well, when coverage of his trial appeared in the "The Daily Prophet". However, the most horrible account of him was in, "The Quibbler". The headline of that article had read, "**Draco Malfoy - Muggle Model Extraordinaire?"** That article further convinced him that whatever was printed in that magazine was, and always would be, a load of rubbish. Draco sneered at that memory, why in bloody hell would he ever be a "model" anyway? Whatever that was. It was probably Potter's way for reminding him that he saved his arse in the courtroom, he _was_ friends with Loony Lovegood after all…

--------

The dusty, dingy, derelict hall outside the dungeon-like room was now virtually empty. Members of the Wizengamot had rushed onto other matters, including the trials of several rowdy Death Eaters. It seemed Harry and Draco were the only ones who had left the courtroom, save for a few others.

Draco had Harry pinned against the cold, stone wall of the corridor. A sneer was plastered across his pallid pointed face.

"What was that all about, Potter?" Draco hissed, giving Harry and extra hard shove against the wall.

"I did it for Dumbledore, Malfoy. Don't try to flatter yourself," Harry retorted, rolling his emerald eyes.

"Dumbledore's dead, you twit!"

"Not his memory."

"Why'd you even open your bloody mouth, Potty?" Draco snarled, his features contorted with revulsion.

"Because, Malfoy, think about it. Dumbledore's a world famous Legilmens. You think he didn't see something in you? He wouldn't have offered to help you without having seen something besides a cold-blooded killer. Of course you can always go replace your loser of a father in Azkaban…" Harry replied, his expression purely annoyed at Draco.

"This changes nothing, Scarhead."

--------------

"Oh _there_ you are, Draco!"

Malfoy groaned inwardly, for at the doorway stood Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle; Just who he had wanted to see. Pansy, with her short black hair and pug-like face seemed even more like the canine, as she had an obnoxiously large pink bow holding her hair back. Apparently, she was followed the "latest trend" among witches. Crabbe and Goyle both grunted hellos to Draco as he eyed the three of them.

"Where else do you think I'd be Parkinson, the moon?" Malfoy retorted sarcastically, as the three of them strode into the compartment. Pansy happily squished in by Draco's feet, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering over to the other side.

"Hello, Malfoy. Didn't think you'd be coming back for another term," came the voice of a tall dark wizard with high-cheekbones at the door

"'Ello, Zabini," Draco drawled, nodding as he at least acknowledged the other wizard's presence.

"Oh! Blaise!" Pansy exclaimed, hurrying to make room for him next to her. "Drake could you move your feet?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him in an obscure way, that Draco was sure she meant as a flirtatious move.

"I'll do whatever the bloody hell I want" Draco muttered, but begrudgingly sat up straight, not wanting to be bothered. Blaise scooted into the seat next to Pansy and she immediately started flirting with him, practically in his lap. Lucky for Draco, she must have sensed he was in a crappy mood.

"N.E.W.T.s are going to be hell this year, eh mate?" Zabini casually said, glancing over at Draco while playing with Pansy's short hair.

"Huh? Oh yeah, real pity we have to take them," Malfoy returned, not paying attention. His thoughts were elsewhere at the moment. With his forehead resting against the cold glass of the windowpane, he had a perfect view of the countryside approaching Hogwarts. It was dusk, the earliest of stars poking their way into sight, reminders of the coming darkness. The rolling green hills seemed barren and uninviting, unlike previous years. In fact, everything surrounding the train seemed dismal, devoid of hope almost. The trees, with their browning leaves stood like skeletons, as if already dead and bare. In the very distance, Draco could almost make out a small dot resembling the looming castle of Hogwarts. Yet, pale white-blonde tresses falling into his eyes blocked his vision. Through his now limited view, his surroundings looked jagged, like a jigsaw puzzle. It was as if someone had taken a picture of a cloudless starry night, and shattered it to pieces with a sledgehammer. Like beating the life out of something that used to be so serene, perfection torn into a thousand pieces.

"Drake, is that a new set of robes? They look lovely on you," Pansy piped up from behind him. He turned his head and glanced sideways at her.

"Of course they are Pansy," he responded flatly, her question was obvious as it was.

"Where did you go this year for your robes? Madam Malkins or Twilfit and Tattings?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his tone, but not daring to question him lest he become more brooding with her.

"Twilfit and Tattings of course, mother's been against Malkin's ever since that incident with Potter," he said simply. Pansy nodded in understanding.

"Diagon Alley getting so underrated these days, you just never know what sort of people you'll collide with..." Zabini spoke up from next to Pansy.

Draco shot him a silencing look at his words, feeling a bit paranoid about them. What was he implying? Oh, Potter. Draco quickly squashed his paranoia as he shook his head. "Oh, you wouldn't believe the sort…" he muttered, looking away again, his thoughts lingering on the girl who had run into him. Deirdre, he believed her name was. She was certainly an annoying little bitch, snaking her way into his dreams and all.

"Draco, dearest, is something wrong?" Pansy whined, trying to act concerned, even going as far as to touch Draco's shoulder sympathetically.

"For Merlin's sake, Parkinson, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'dearest'!" Malfoy snapped, turning back around and glaring at her as well. He completely ignored her question.

"Well, I just assumed…that you know…we were still in a relationship…" Pansy whimpered, attempting to look innocent and pleading. Draco merely rolled his eyes.

"When you assume, you make an arse out of you and me," he snapped. "I don't want to date you anymore, Parkinson, get that through you skull," he muttered, turning away once more. He heard Blaise stifle a snigger, and glanced over to Crabbe and Goyle to see what was up. Crabbe was sleeping, and Goyle was eating.

"Just...don't talk to me until we arrive… we have to direct firsties towards the lake," Draco said with an annoyed sigh, closing his icy blue eyes.

"Maybe we should just let the squid do it, I'm sure they'd have fun," Pansy giggled at her own comment, and Zabini smirked. Draco merely gave a small "heh" Of acknowledgement, before attempting to sleep before they reached the castle. He could already sense what a _lovely_ year he was going to have…

b A/n: /b Ah, I've been an insanely rude person by not thanking my wonderful beta thus far. Orlaith, you're certainly as awesome as someone can get. Plus, its fun to make fun of those badgers! )


	4. Music of the Night

**Chapter four: Music of the Night**

--- --- --- --- ---

"Pay attention, Deirdre!"

The tiny seven year old looked up from the window. She had been daydreaming again. Aunt Janelle wouldn't like that, she could already tell by the shrill sound of her aunt's voice, mingling with her sharp French accent.

"Deirdre Elizabeth Ashcroft, I'm not here teaching you everything you could possibly need to know about becoming a proper young lady, to have you daydreaming! Are you going to do that when you're a married woman? Your husband's going to want a lovely young lady who can sing and perform only the best of magic!" The tall, middle-aged French woman in the corner scoffed at her niece, turning up her dainty pointed nose so her clear blue eyes looked away in distress. Aunt Janelle was a pretty woman - thin, tall and blonde. She was extremely proper, hung up in the old-fashioned ways of when her mother was a girl. Deirdre seemed to get her good looks from her; though as fair as she was, the small girl was dark.

"Aunty, that's silly! I'm not getting married for like a gazillion years!" the little girl, Deirdre, said with a small nervous giggle – yet looked ashamed that her aunt had yelled at her as she blushed, tears springing to her dark eyes.

"Oh, pish-posh child. The time will come before you know it. Even sooner if your father is keeping his plans," she said, shaking her golden locks at the child.

"But why can't I go play with the other kids, please? Pretty please?" Deirdre pleaded with her aunt, giving her the most angelic look she could muster, and when Janelle had shaken her head yet again, the seven year old pouted and started to cry.

"What in the world is all this fuss!"

Standing in the doorway, was Deirdre's father, Marius Ashcroft Avery, or as he went these days, Avery Ashcroft. It was quite complicated as to why he had switched his family's last name to his mother's maiden name, but it wasn't very important. He was a tall man, with slicked back dark hair and dark stubble of a beard. His expression was never that of love, to say the very least; usually it was more disappointed in something.

"Daddy! Auntie Janelle won't let me play with the other kids!" the small girl sobbed, running to her father. He rolled his eyes as he looked down at her.

"Janelle, get this brat under control or I swear I will…"

--- --- --- --- ---

"Miss Ashcroft? Hello…?"

Deirdre looked up out of a slight daze, for a moment she had forgotten where she was. Then it all came back to her and she remembered where she was and why. Looking down she saw a stool beneath her feet, and a thousand eyes staring back at her when she looked out over the tables. She shivered slightly at the dark atmosphere of the place. It was dismal, a lot like her home. Thunderclouds rumbled softly overheard on the enchanted ceiling, and the candlelight flickered, but it didn't have much life to it. It was dreary, as if the candles were too depressed to flicker with the full force that they usually possessed. Overall the atmosphere of the room was droll. Of course, the newcomer was quite dull when it came to last year's proceedings and had really no inkling of how Dumbledore's death had affected the school and students.

Professor McGonagall looked down in disapproval. "You don't mind that I start now, do you?" she asked curtly, holding a hat in her hands. Deirdre looked at the ragged old thing in disgust.

"You want me to put _that _on my head?" she asked, causing a majority of the students in the hall to laugh. The Headmistress rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Yes, Miss Ashcroft, now if you will just…" she said, then placed the hat on her head.

She felt odd for a moment, like this… this thing was reading her mind, every single emotion she'd ever felt displayed right there for her to see. And it was speaking to her!

"Yes… you have a plan here, don't you? Ah, a great plan… ambition in it… yes… cunning… but what's this? Loyalty… hmm… unwavering… and your heart. Romantic, eh? Wishful thinker? But I sense tragedy… I sense violence… and sorrow along with this pretty little head…" it whispered to her, causing the girl to shiver.

"Devestation…" it said. Then finally: "SLYTHERIN!" There was applause and cheering from the Slytherins themselves, but when the hat was taken off her head, Deirdre just stared blankly up at Professor McGonagall.

"Well, do sit down, Miss. Ashcroft," she said, motioning to the Slytherin table.

"Where?"

There was a roar of laughter from around the hall as McGonagall heaved a sigh and pointed to the table on the far left of the hall. The girl stood, a flush on her face as she walked towards the table, taking an empty seat near the end.

---- ---- --- ---- ----

"Did you see her face! What a dolt!" Pansy Parkinson snorted, along with a shriek of laughter as she sat with Draco. "Doesn't know what Slytherins are, is she mental?"

"Perhaps," Draco answered, rolling his eyes at Pansy's laughter. "I've heard that name some where… I know I have…" he mumbled, his eyes resting on Deirdre from his end of the table.

Finally it registered. The girl. It was her! The mysterious female haunting his dreams.

He cursed under his breath; the ruddy little demon! She was following him, everywhere he went he saw her. It was almost unbearable. He fell asleep at night with her cold and terrified gaze lingering in the back of his mind. It was so unfair!

"Parkinson… do you ever shut up?" Draco couldn't help but snapping at her obscenely obnoxious remarks about the newcomer. Her squeaky voice was already getting on his nerves and it was only the first day back…

"Oh, relax, Drake darling, I'm just having a bit of fun! Oh, Dianna! I mean – Deirdre, come here, we have an extra seat!" Pansy called out with a fake smile, Draco rolling his eyes as she did so.

Deirdre had glanced their way, with a slightly amused but cautious look, she moved to the empty seat next to Pansy.

"So, you're home schooled?" she asked her in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. Deirdre nodded her reply, focusing her eyes on the oak table in front of her. Draco saw her eyes flick to him for a moment, and he felt that same stare – like she was burning a hole into his forehead.

"Why? Who taught you? Your _mother_?" she sneered, looking at Deirdre as if she were retarded. Draco tuned himself out of the conversation, but he was sure Deirdre was being verbally abused by Pansy and her gang just from the look on her face.

"You know what, shut your sodding mouth!" she finally snapped at Pansy, and Draco noticed her cheeks had flushed a light pink colour. _Probably tormenting the poor girl to no end. Wait, Poor? What in bloody hell am I thinking?_

Fed up, Deirdre narrowed her dark eyes at Pansy, in a way that reminded Draco of his aunt Bellatrix. A slow, incessantly sweet smile crossed the girl's doll-like face for a moment.

"By the way, love, you might want to do something about that mask. It's not polite to wear Muggle items in school," she said innocently, and before standing, she had managed to knock the pudding into Pansy's lap. Amidst the Slytherin's shrieks, Draco smirked lightly as he watched Deirdre run from the hall.

_Odd_, he thought. _But it serves her right._

In the end Draco could care less about whether the girl was off crying her eyes out or making plans of revenge on Parkinson. What mattered now was that he somehow ignore the eyes of every student on him, the hushed whisper and gossip, and most of all the paranoia that they were always talking about him.

--- --- ---

If there was one thing he found unnerving about coming back to Hogwarts, it was that the Ministry forced him to keep up his Prefect duties. Perhaps it was to keep an eye on him, maybe even try and reform him. Hah. Like that would ever happen. Draco sighed as he rounded the dark corridor hall of the first floor, checking to make sure no little first years were out of bed.

The light from the torches reflected on the stone walls as if they were dancing, their red-orange flames flickering back and forth almost tauntingly. They were almost a lullaby to Draco, and he wanted to sleep. They created little warmth however, and perhaps that was the only thing keeping Draco awake. His pace slowed as he rounded yet another corner, hard soled shoes creating a pattern that was almost rhythmic. _Tap, tap, tap, tap.._ Ironically enough, he liked the sound. It was something to listen to other than the eerie silence of Hogwarts at night.

This was the part of his job he hated – the silence. Normally there were people all around him, talking and jeering and making lewd jokes about Gryffindors. Even at home he heard the constant leering of his father's portrait, the constant hustle and bustle of servants and House Elves rushing back and forth. The silence was almost unbearable, and it left his mind wandering to all those horrid things he'd planned. All those horrid things he'd seen, and all the times he'd been reprimanded for the smallest offence. He could recall Lucius' livid look when he messed up his fourth year, and Narcissa had to come and find him on the train. He remembered the words Lucius had snarled, and the punishment he'd gone through. None of it was pleasant, none of it at all.

Just then, Draco was jolted from his thoughts at the sound of… what was that? It sounded like a voice – it sounded like a girl.

_Who on earth would be up at this time of night?_ Draco thought, slowing his pace once more to make his tread quieter. Curiosity piqued, he had to see what it was.

It was a girl singing. Yes, definitely that was it. It sounded familiar… he'd heard it before.

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour _

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender _

_Hearing is believing _

_Music is deceiving _

_Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight _

_Dare you trust the music of the night _

_Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth _

_And the truth isn't what you want to see _

_In the dark it is easy to pretend _

_That the truth is what it ought to be _

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you _

_Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you _

_Open up your mind _

_Let your fantasies unwind _

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight _

_The darkness of the music of the night_

Draco raised an eyebrow as he listened, stepping closer with every note the girl hit. There was a tone to her voice that was enticing; it had a slight air that Professor Trelawney might have when she was predicting Harry Potter's immediate and gruesomely tragic death- well according to those who took Divination. Worthless class. Her voice was well trained and Draco couldn't help but shiver slightly as she hit a trilling high note, almost like an opera singer. As he reached the open doorway his face fell when he noticed who it was.

_Merlin, not her again!_ he thought dismally, as his eyes set on the back view of Deirdre Ashcroft. She was _just _the person he wanted to see at a late hour of the night giving him the creeps with her singing… not.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, backing away from the door just as she turned around. Lucky he wasn't spotted, but he was very tired all of a sudden…

"Mr. Malfoy! Wake up!"

Draco opened his eyes to see a rather livid looking Headmistress McGonagall standing above him. The lines around her eyes were crinkled in confusion as she looked at the Slytherin. Clearing her throat she shook her head.

"Mr. Malfoy, why are you sleeping in the corridor? Class starts in five minutes!" she said, bewildered. Draco looked around, noticing he had fallen slumped against the wall and was sprawled under a blanket.

A blanket?

He didn't recognize it, nor did he remember how he got here or how he fell asleep. Thinking quickly, he stood, rolling the blanket under his arm.

"Sorry, Professor… " he started, giving her a regretful smile, "I was so enthralled in my Prefect duties that I simply… fell asleep…" He stalled, "And thank you so much for the blanket, that was really too kind of you," he said, using his own personal type of flattery on her. She raised an eyebrow.

"That blanket does not belong to me, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you had it with you, and maybe forgot. Now… don't let this happen again or I will be forced to deduct points. And from a Prefect… how disappointing..." she scoffed, shaking her head before continuing on her way. Draco looked confused as he glanced at the black cotton blanket under his arm. This wasn't his and he'd never seen it before…

A speck of red yarn caught his eye, and he looked down at the corner of the blanket. The initials "D.A." were embroidered in calligraphic writing. Draco groaned as his thoughts came back to him in a whirlwind. He couldn't get away, could he?

Looking up once more, Draco glanced back at the form of Professor McGonagall. "Headmistress?" He called bluntly, not bothering with acting polite at all.

"Why exactly do I still have prefect duties?" He asked, it was more of a statement than a question. The headmistress turned, as a hint of a smile spread across her face and Draco wasn't sure if he should be terrified or if he would vomit at the peculiar sight.

"Well Draco," She stated, "there is _always_ a chance to redeem yourself."

--- --- --- --- --

(a/n: ) I'd once more like to thank the amazing Orlaith for putting up with my horrible punctuation, and lack of capitalization. The lyrics used in this chapter are from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera."

Later on in each chapter, I am trying to incorporate a piece of text or lyrics into the story. I like how music and writing can serve as predictions and fit the mood and all that jazz.


	5. Silver and Cold

**Chapter Five:** Silver and Cold

--- --- --- --- --

Did he have the plague or something? Of course Draco knew why people avoided him. He was "evil". Yet it was quite painstaking to head towards one side of a classroom then suddenly notice that almost everyone around you was gone. Fortunately though, things went quite smoothly his first few weeks after the feast. At least Potter and his merry band of morons didn't show up again - save for Ginny Weasley.

Eleven pairs of uneasy eyes stared at him from various seats as he quickly dashed into the N.E.W.T Charms class. So much for sitting with fellow Slytherins. Pansy wasn't in this class and Blaise's table was already full. The classes were small this year; nearly half of the Hogwarts populace had left school. Sighing, he took a seat in the back at the empty table. The table was rickety and unsteady, placed in the darkest corner of the room. The smell of the room made the pale nose on his face scrunch in disgust. It was a sickeningly sweet fruit-like smell that made him want to vomit. As he set his books down, Draco noticed the amount of scribbling and scratching from quills on the surface of the desks were far more prominent on his desk than those of the other desks. He smirked and set his books over a haphazard heart carved into the oak desk reading: "Eva & Draco." Wondering who this Eva was, he looked around the room. Not a seventh year; perhaps she was a silly third year.

_They're so hormonal they're attracted to anything with a male reproduction system. _

Something maroon caught his eye - there, down at the corner of the desk. Leaning down to avoid being seen by Professor Flitwick, though he doubted he could see - the Professor was so short, he wrenched the book from the wood in one hard jerk. Upon closer inspection he noted it was of a deep blood colour with very intricate designs of silver and green, probably in a Celtic fashion. The dark colours of the Dragonhide cover were vibrant somehow; they stood out in the grey and black contours of the dimly lit and dismal classroom. The borders of such book were covered in silver interlacing knot-like figures. For a moment the name of the pattern escaped him.

_An eternity knot. I remember these._

When he was younger his mother had given him a serpent ring; the scales of the silver serpent were engraved with such knot-like patterns and the eye of the serpent was an emerald. She'd said that the pattern represented the crossings of people's lives, and how his actions would affect every person he'd ever met. If only he'd heeded her advice. He still wore that ring. Glancing over at it he shook his head before going back to his new discovery, pretending to be looking up a charm for Professor Flitwick. The title read: Mythology and Legends of Muggles. Draco cringed slightly at the mention of Muggles. Filthy trash. However he opened the book to a random page anyway.

_"I see a woman, the fairest and most beautiful of all the daughters of Ulster. Her hair is long and soft, the most lovely bronzed colour with large dark eyes that sparkled. She has suffered much heartache in her life. She is a sad beauty, clinging to God but falling fast. Her name is Deirdre - Deirdre of the Sorrows. She will bring sorrow and pain to all the heroes of Ulster." _

_A girl-child was born to Siobha on the night of a full moon. Her proud father, Feidhlim, cradled her gently in his arms and named her Deirdre. He took her to the druids and asked them to foretell his infant's future. _

_The druids looked towards the stars and glanced sadly at the newborn. "What do you see?" Feidhlim asked the druids anxiously. They answered, "This child will cause great trouble. She will grow up to be the most beautiful woman in Ulster, but she will cause the death of many of our men…"_

"Hello?"

Then Malfoy looked up with a start. "Merlin!" he exclaimed, quickly catching himself mid sentence and changing his expression to that of a sneer. "What are you bloody doing sneaking up on me like that!"

Her description matched that of the book exactly. Well… she wasn't I beautiful /I in his opinion. She wasn't bad looking though, he couldn't deny that. The frightening fact was that she had the same name- he'd remembered it from the sorting- and looks. Upon closer examination - ignoring her strange looks - he noted the contours of her face were soft and smooth and wore a slightly pained expression.

I Sad beauty, /I he thought instantly, then shaking his head in disgust that he had let the thought come to mind.

"So, are you going to let me sit? I do want at least an A on this assignment…" she drawled simply, curiously arching an eyebrow at him.

"I suppose so," he mumbled, quickly moving to shove the book he had just found into his schoolbag. He didn't think she saw it, good. Though why anyone would settle for an "Acceptable" on a simple assignment was beyond him.

As she sat down, stretching out in a rather feline way he noticed something silver dangling from her neck by a chain. A tiny silver raven.

"What's that?" Draco asked rudely, not bothering to be polite about it.

"A necklace from my mother," she answered in a monotone voice, taking out the needed supplies for the Charms assignment. He failed to notice the chattering of students in the room, the motions of the group work and the Professor hobbling about on his stubby legs to check the progress of the pairs.

"Give it here for a bit."

"Excuse me? A "please" would be nice," she responded, looking rather unimpressed as she jotted down notes on her parchment.

"Fine. May I _please_ see the necklace?" Draco scowled. She smiled at him now, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the silver.

Handing him the necklace, Deirdre's hand brushed his for a moment and she glanced down at the parchment. He couldn't actually explain his reaction that moment, but a fluttery feeling lingered in his abdomen. No, wait - it was just the effects of spoiled pumpkin juice.

"Lets just get to work. Dario, is it?" she questioned.

"Draco."

"Right. Give me a minute to set up the heading…" Draco nodded, turning over the small raven in his hands. It was incredibly lightweight and most likely hollow from the feel of it. Upon examining the object closer he noticed within the contours of the raven's wings and feathered body were an intricate pattern of knot patterns.

_The crossing of lives and fate. Destiny is intertwined in knots like these_ .

The words of Narcissa Malfoy on his eleventh birthday flickered through his conscience for a moment. His ring and Deirdre's necklace were oddly similar and it made him feel slightly uneasy.

"Tell me, what are all these patterns on it for?"

"They're eternity knots. They represent continuous life, the intertwining and connecting of people's lives and fate itself. Why?" she asked, looking up from her work now. Draco shrugged but said nothing.

"I take it this was a gift or something then…" he mumbled, now setting up his own parchment to copy what she had written about dangerous charms and hexes.

"It was in the will."

"The will?"

Deirdre looked up and over at him again. "Are you always so bloody intrusive?" she suddenly snapped, sneering at him. Draco rolled his eyes, looking annoyed.

"Well _excuse me_ for asking. Anyway, Ashcroft is it? Is that even pureblood?" he drawled.

"Yes," she answered rather indignantly.

"Who's your father then?" he responded coolly.

"Marius Ashcroft," she snapped, her writing on the parchment becoming quite sloppy from her not being focused on it.

"I've heard of a Marius Avery, but not an Ashcroft… He was in the Azkaban break-out."

She froze, dropping the quill and turning to give him an icy look. "I don't see what that has to do with me," she said in an even tone, almost secretively. Draco smirked, knowing he had hit a soft spot. He knew of the Avery's, they hung around with Lucius. He also knew how on their guard people were about the breakout. They wouldn't be allowing Hogsmeade trips this year, only once just before the holidays. Shopkeepers in Diagon Alley were setting up guards around their shops - those who decided to stay anyway. You couldn't trust your best friend anymore, and thousands of "wanted" signs were being displayed every time you turned your head. He'd seen the likeness of his father and aunt stare down at him from a few posters already. Times were so untrusting, with people so paranoid. A single slip of the tongue could land you a spot among the Ministry's Most Wanted.

Shaking his head, he turned to start copying her questions down so Flitwick would think they were actually getting something done. He grimaced as he continued to read her answers. Most of them were wrong. In fact, practically all of them were wrong. Rather than say anything however, he smirked and wrote the answers he knew were right. About at the second to last small paragraph, he paused, feeling someone's eyes on him. Draco looked up to find Deirdre staring intently at him. She was studying him by the looks of it, although he couldn't imagine why. Her dark eyes were intent on him, that same very gaze he'd seen in dreams, although luckily they'd stopped since he'd arrive at school.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me?" Draco smirked. Looking guilty, as well as caught, Deirdre's gaze flickered back to her own parchment.

"Your…er…. your not writing the same things as me," she protested weekly. Draco could tell just by the tone of her voice and the sheepish look on her pale face that she was lying. Her eyes were focused on the left corner of her paper anyway. Liars always looked to the left. It didn't take a Legilimens to figure that out.

"Of course I wasn't. Yours are all wrong."

"You don't know that."

"I know enough to know that the _Fidelius_ Charm is not used to spy on someone. Haven't you ever heard of it? You must be pretty thick if you haven't…" Draco drawled.

"I'm not stupid, if that's what you're trying to say…my aunt just didn't think it was important to teach me these kinds of things. She said it wasn't proper for a young lady," Deirdre responded in a defeated tone, a slight blush on her face from being proved wrong.

Draco snorted. "How old's your aunt, hundred-fifty? Needs to start living in the present if you ask me."

"No one asked you," she retorted with a slight edge to her voice, as he watched her start to change her answers to his own.

Watching her scribble the answer to the last question, she rolled the parchment up with a sigh and stood abruptly with a scrape of the wooden chair on stone. Other students in the class had begun to go back to their normal seats as well, and Professor Flitwick was starting to collect the rolls of parchment. The chattering had started up again, all but Draco seemed to be talking animatedly about Merlin knows what. There was pitter-patter of pelting raindrops against the windows of the classroom in a perpetual rhythm that Draco ended up tapping out on his desk with his fingers. Absentmindedly, he was tuning out of Professor Flitwick's closing lecture and was staring out the window. The grounds seemed to match the classroom - grey and dull. Nothing had been anything more than that this year. Hogwarts used to be an awe-inspiring place, full of splendour, wonder, and mystery for him and all the others. It used to be Draco's home away from home. A home away from the cruelty of Lucius, and quiet stony comfort of Narcissa. A bustling castle filled with people always - nothing the disturbing silence that was Malfoy Manor. For all its grandeur, Draco liked Hogwarts better. He was the one tormenting, not the one being tormented. He was in charge of Slytherin here - or at least he used to be. Yet now Hogwarts was hardly such a thing. All it took was the death of Dumbledore and this strong and flawless castle was nothing. Nothing compared to what he previously envisioned it to be.

Draco shivered as he thought of Lucius. Was he still hiding out at the Averys' with Snape and Avery himself now? Was Bellatrix with them again too? Would they talk about him at all? He hoped not - his father was not his most favourite person. Years of criticism and abuse - both verbal and physical - were something Draco hated to be reminded of. He shuddered as he thought of some of the punishments, quickly shoving them out of his mind and then recalling the type of boy he was afterwards; a small, thin and pale boy crying into his mother's arms. She knew how horrible Lucius was, yet Draco could not remember her saying anything to him about it. He supposed it was love. What was this so-called 'love' anyway? Did it look like anything? How could you tell? Was there a moment when everything burst into a brilliant flame about you - or did it happen gradually and slowly? i What was it like? /i 

He wondered, for he had never known.

Draco wouldn't call what he felt towards his mother "love", it was more of a strong respect and admiration for a woman who'd taken care of him all his life. It was deep affection and relativity with her - but it wasn't love. He definitely did not love his father, for he only tolerated him out of fear and respect. Lucius Malfoy was an enigma that Draco did not have the time nor strength to figure out. Cold as ice he was, but fiercely loyal and protective - also somewhat careless with others. His son and wife weren't _family_, they were trophies - trophies to haul around with him as he wished; toys to play with as he saw fitting. He thought he loved Pansy, but in the end she wasn't that pretty nor did she make him "weak at the knees". Wasn't that what they said happened? That even the toughest man was brought to his lover's mercy from such a...a thing?

_The Dark Lord wasn't swayed though ,_ thought Draco, _and neither was Father._

Maybe he'd solve this mystery on top of all the others someday. Someday everything would be clear to him, and everything would make sense. Just as he stood from his seat to leave as class was dismissed, another thought occurred to him.

He'd never given Deirdre her necklace back.

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**Author's note: **I'd like to thank Orlaith once more for the beta-work done on this chapter. (amidst many headaches and bouts of boredom I'm sure.) Hope you get good marks on that essay!)

The text from the book Draco reads is taken from ** All info about Myths and Legends,** found at http/myths. on the Celtic patterns & knots taken from various websites I forgot to save. (

Animal representation in the jewellery that both Draco and Deirdre have can be found here http/ 


	6. The Point of No Return

**Chapter six:** The Point of No Return

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It wasn't that Draco didn't like mornings, they just didn't bring out the best in him.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, I've been talking your ear off all morning and I haven't heard a word come from your mouth!" chastised Pansy Parkinson, cutting away at her breakfast as she currently occupied the space to his left side at the Slytherin table. Draco flipped his attention back to her, clearly now just slipping out of his reverie.

"Perhaps I'd be able to speak if you'd shut your gob long enough," he drawled casually in response, reaching for a roll as he spoke. His other hand now rested in his pocket where slender fingers closed gently around warm silver. His index finger absentmindedly toyed with the grainy silver chain. Things were normal. Almost.

Normal if you could count the fact that over a third of the hall was empty. Normal if you could count the fact that the weather in the hall had not shown a dash of sunlight so far this term. Normal if you considered that Professor McGonagall now occupied the grand seat where a bold and powerful Headmaster had once sat. Normal if you didn't mind that your role model and favourite teacher was now on the run for murder. Normal if you weren't afraid of _being _murdered.

Well, at least it was normal to _her._

Draco sighed as his eyes of ice veered from Pansy's pouty face to the secretive and silent looking girl near the end of the table. Luckily he'd stopped having those bloody dreams. She was so different, so oddly unbecoming of Slytherin house, and so oddly enveloping his mind with constant thoughts of her. It wasn't like she was something special or anything - she was undoubtedly quiet, and reserved, but there was something he couldn't lay his finger on. It angered him to the point of no end that she acted so innocent and silent. Yet there she had been, she'd haunted - no _stalked_ him was more like it.

Her eyes met with his at that precise instant, and Draco scowled. Why was she even at Hogwarts, anyway? Who bloody well cared if her had aunt died - there was a war going on, wasn't there? In his opinion she was actually quite stupid. She _had_ almost caused them to fail such a simple Charms task, so he figured that had to count for something.

Just as he was about to stand and shove the disgraceful hunk of silver she called a necklace in her face, the familiar screeching and hooting of owls was heard as they flew into the hall to deliver mail. A flurry of wing beats and a rush of wind blew his blonde locks askew as the birds flew over head. Nothing for him except for his copy of the morning's i Daily Prophet /I 

"Oh, Draco, look at that!"

He looked down upon Pansy's request at the paper she had already opened for him; her voice sounded almost worried.

"**Escaped Death Eaters Still Eluding Capture: Five Persons Found Dead Under Dark Mark." **

Draco shook his head as he read the headlines. His father was no doubt among those doing the killing. Seating himself once more, he turned back to Pansy who was reading the article and searching for names of people they knew.

"Anyone we know?" he finally asked her, raising a brow curiously. She nodded.

"I suppose you might; Bill Weasley, Terrence Higgs, Melinda Sloper, Serena Spinnet, and James MacDonald. Ring a bell?" she enquired, passing Draco the _Prophet_. He nodded as he scanned the names.

"They've killed a Weasley, have they? Wasn't he the one who Greyback got last year?" he asked aloud, noting parents of others who had been or still were in Hogwarts. Pansy nodded as well in response to his question.

"Interesting," he noted, looking up and across the hall to the Gryffindor table, where he noticed a very red-eyed Ginny Weasley being consoled by her peers. Apparently one little red head was really taking her brother's death quite hard.

"Do you think…well…do you think your father was…er…_ involved_ with this?" she asked, somewhat cautiously in case he be angered by her statement. He shot her a sideways glare, steel coloured eyes narrowing in distaste. How dare she bring up such a topic when others were listening!

"I do believe that my father's business is none of your concern, Miss. Parkinson," he hissed. Hey, he may have hated the man - but his family was still his family, and his family business held no relevance to Pansy Parkinson. She shrunk back from him, her eyes focusing on the plate in front of her.

"Well." Was all she said, in a huffy voice and turned to chat with Daphne Greengrass. Looking away from her, he glanced up to watch the last of the owls fly in when his eye rested on a familiar one. It was large and black, and had a majestic yet demonic air about it as it casually beat its massive wings and dropped a letter at its recipient's place.

_I know that Owl._

It was no ordinary owl and Draco had only seen the thing once, but it was in hi s memory for all time. That owl was Lucius Malfoy's _private_ owl. The one he used only for the most important of matters, and it was to never be flown to Draco even in the most dire of circumstances. In fact, Draco was to never have seen that owl. Only once when Draco was around eight did he lay eyes on the beast delivering a mysteriously wrapped object to the drawing room. Now that owl was here at Hogwarts, delivering a letter to a fellow student of his.

Delivering a letter to that damned Deirdre Ashcroft.

Suspicion shot through Draco like wildfire and his eyes narrowed once more in what seemed to be frustration. It angered him and yet it sparked a curiosity within Draco all at once. Why on bloody earth was _she _getting a letter from _his_ father - and through the use of Lucius Malfoy's private owl! Warily Draco watched the girl as she shooed the owl away from her with a somewhat frightened countenance. _The oddball. Terrified of an owl,_ he thought, shaking his head before leaning forward slightly to watch her. It just didn't make sense. Why would she, of all people, get a letter from none other than Lucius Malfoy and then be _frightened_ of the owl that brought the letter? He focused in on her shaking hands, unfolding the parchment with such a delicacy as if the parchment was made of silk. She twitched slightly with a cough, causing the letter to tilt into view. It was most definitely his father's elegant sprawling handwriting. He also caught the flourish signature of the elder Malfoy as well, before the girl quickly began to read.

His gaze now flicked upwards, resting where the necklace he held should have resided, before settling on Deirdre's face. The slightly gaunt contours of her face (which he did not think to be any at all attractive on anyone but his own personal self) were tense with what he noted as anxiety, or perhaps fear. When he noticed her flesh pale as she read, he judged it to be the latter. Draco couldn't help but watch with slight infatuation at how stark her dark hazel coloured eyes were against the pallid visage that beheld the features of a starved china doll with a soft dusting of hardly visible freckles. It was then with morbid fascination that he took into account the fact that she seemed to have devoured this disgusting Hogwarts food at a rather sickening pace, recalling how thin the girl had seemed when he had been partners with her.

The clatter of silver hitting the stone floor of The Great Hall aroused him from his ever-increasing moments of deep thought. It was then he smirked, letting out a snigger as Deirdre quickly picked up her knocked over goblet of pumpkin juice. Draco could no longer see the mysterious letter and presumed she had stuffed it into the pocket of her robes. He and Pansy couldn't help but make a few snide remarks as she fumbled with her wand for a few moments uttering a weak attempt at _"Scourgify!"_ It was worse than a fourth year.

It was with a sharp jolt of indignation that he remembered the reason she was bolting out of the hall so quickly; she held a letter that _he _should know of. Excusing himself from a pouting Pansy Parkinson and rather expectant Crabbe and Goyle, Draco used the excuse that the House Elves weren't cooking things right again and that he and his sensitive stomach needed to visit Madame Pomfrey before class.

Stealthily slipping from the Hall he zeroed in on the presence of Miss. Ashcroft not too far ahead of him and followed her almost silently. She was leading him towards the dungeons at a quickening pace. Keeping to the darker side of the hall he was making rather good time, swearing under his breath however when a voice interrupted him.

"Draco, m'boy! Just the bloke I was hoping to see! Now now, how are you?"

Draco turned around to see a rather rotund waistcoat wearing Horace Slughorn standing there. The streak off of the man's baldhead caused Draco to smirk slightly, it was so bright.

"Yes. Sir?" The Malfoy responded in a respectful tone. After all, Professor Slughorn _was _the new head of Slytherin House.

"Headmistress McGonagall would just like me to inform you that on a special occasion and rather jovial news, your Mother has come to pay a visit. My dear boy, I congratulate you!" He boomed vivaciously, a subtle shadow of a proud smile out from under his annoyingly large moustache. In return Draco nodded with a "thank you" as Professor Slughorn continued, "I've told her she may talk to you in my office. It's quite empty right about now as I'm off to catch a late breakfast. Narcissa Black was an I exceptional /I girl when it came to Potions and Herbology. That girl could whip up a brew of anything I asked - and she grew the herbs herself!" he boasted, and Draco nodded once more, slightly puzzled at what his Professor was trying to get across.

"Yes well, thank you, Sir," he ended abruptly, before turning now. Deirdre was gone. He swore once more under his breath before begrudgingly setting off down the hall to Slughorn's office. Draco had to admit, he wondered why his mother was here and what 'good news' she had to share. Narcissa was never a woman to give good news without the bad, and she was never one to tell Draco in person. For her to come to Hogwarts, this must have been something extremely important. At the same time, this made Draco feel oddly elated. His mother was someone he was closely related to. Someone who lavishly heaped affection into his lap when he was a small child. In a way, she was his saving grace - the one who always calmed him down and looked out for him. He respected her over everyone else and admired her dignity, her icy and graceful goddess like beauty.

"Hello, Draco."

The hopes that had crested within him plummeted suddenly when he gazed upon the figure before him. For it was not his wonderful mother, but his father.

Lucius Malfoy was here at Hogwarts undetected.

Draco gulped and turned to look behind him, only to realize he was trapped and that the door had been locked. With a sigh he turned back to the man lounging in the chair before him.

"Father… I had not expected you. Professor Slughorn told me that Mother was here… with good news…" he drawled carefully, wanting Lucius to get to the point of his visit- and to just leave. Lucius Malfoy stood; plain black and genderless Wizarding robes scraping the ground as he did so. As he moved around from behind Slughorn's desk, Draco knew enough not to even think of sitting in any of the nearby seats while in the presence of his father - lest it be deemed inappropriate and disrespectful. Towering over his son with his hands behind his back, snakehead cane in one, Lucius looked at Draco with an unfeeling and blank look. Draco then realized that this was the first time he'd seen his father in at least two years.

Azkaban had drained him of his youth, and sleep it seemed. Oddly however, Draco could see no difference in his father's appearance. Well, if you didn't count the slightly unshaven and haggard look he had.

"Draco," Lucius acknowledged in a clear crisp voice once more. A tone that usually meant Draco was in trouble.

So much for a warm reunion.

"Yes, Father?" he replied, deciding it would be better to hold off on the questioning about his mother, and how the elder Malfoy had gotten here.

"Do you know why I am here?" he drawled with lips curling into a sneer.

"No, Sir."

"I see," Lucius stated, turning around to pace to another end of the murky room. He returned with a roll of parchment that had been extracted from quite a large coat pocket, now looking rather livid. "Do you know what _this_ is?" he snapped, the roll of parchment inches from Draco's pointed face.

"No, Sir."

The elder man's unfeeling and apathetic grey eyes narrowed into what could be considered slits as he stepped back a few paces, snapping open the parchment with a force that almost tore the thin material.

"_Dear Father, _

_In response to your previous (and only) contact, my answer is a regretful no. With all due respect to the Malfoy line and our heritage, I simply cannot do it. I never asked for the life of a Death Eater, you simply threw it upon my plate. I accepted my mission eagerly a year ago, in hopes that it could be my last. That you would either leave me alone - or that I would die in the process of trying to kill the one and only, Albus Dumbledore. This choice on the contrary does not show weakness. It shows strength. The thing is, father, that you have failed to notice that I am not you. My name happens to be Draco. Not Lucius …"_

Lucius stared down at his son as he trailed off. "_That _is what you reply to me? That feeble attempt to leave the Dark Lord?" he hissed, his voice full of a horrid vehemence, one that Draco only heard on the worst of occasions.

Draco's gaze back at his father was stony. It was, of course, true that Draco had written such things to his father. He had made his choice, and as a Malfoy, he was not turning back. He had taken a jump off that cliff and now he was going to fall with nothing to stop him.

He had nothing left to lose.

"Well. Is this not what you wrote me?"

"Yes, Father."

"And do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, Father."

Lucius Malfoy's pupils dilated in anger, as did the entire countenance of his face. Draco could just see he was seething in anger - an expression he knew all too well. He felt his limbs trembling slightly. He debated reaching for his wand, but thought better of it - his father would surely snap if he did. Instead he felt it was safer to be honest and use one or two word answers. Suddenly Draco lost his balance from impact of his father's cane colliding with his head. He groaned slightly, having been taken aback by the sudden force in which he had been hit. His ears were ringing now as his father's voice grew louder.

"How dare you!"

Draco, disoriented, could not respond to this in a manner that would prove suitable and instead just groaned again, his hand going to the side of his head where the cane had hit. It was definitely going to leave a bump.

"Always showing weakness, aren't you, boy?" Lucius snarled, hitting him hard upside the head once more. This time, Draco knew enough not to flinch nor move - yet it was obvious he was in pain. "You are a despicable excuse for a son, a shame to the Malfoy family, and a pathetic, snivelling little brat!"

Despite the fear that was tugging at his mind, warning him to just run, Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes at his father. Actually daring to say what he had thought for the past six years.

"You've told me that already, father, isn't it getting just a touch old? Tsk tsk, lets get back to the drawing board, shall we?"

Lucius Malfoy leaned in, so his eyes were about level with Draco's. "I could kill you right now if I wanted to, Draco, and don't you for a second believe I wouldn't," he growled, his threatening tone sending a slight shiver down his son's spine. Swiftly, Lucius reached down, drawing his wand out of the cane in a quick motion.

"_Crucio!_"

In an instant, Draco was on his knees. The pain was unbearable. In his case, he felt as if a hundred knives were digging into his flesh, a stinging sensation pulsing through him that got stronger with each second the curse lasted. Before him he couldn't see anything but black, and couldn't hear anything but his own gasps and whimpers. He refused to scream however. No, he would take the pain and prove to his father he wouldn't back down. His entire body was trembling and contorting in pain, feeling a pressure on his chest as if someone was piling heavy stones upon him. His body was on fire and his head would explode. Had he not been so used to this type of torture, it would be far worse.

"You see, Draco, the _power_ the Dark Lord can give you. The _thrill_ of having complete control, being well respected and followed. Ridding the Wizarding world of filth. It won't be long, Draco, before the Dark Lord has complete power again," Lucius stated passionately, enjoying his son's pained cries and dry sobs. "Now, I give you one last chance," he added, voice dropping dangerously low and threatening, but he relinquished his hold on the curse to give Draco enough time to answer.

Heaving for air as if it was the first time he had ever breathed, Draco stared up at his father from his knees with his hands out in front of him on the cold stone, supporting him. He'd have to choose again wouldn't he?

"_I'm not going back now,_" he thought.

"N-No," he replied to his father, his voice shaky and barely there but firm in his decision. The sudden silence that followed was excruciating. Draco could hear his ragged breath in his ears like the pounding of a drum. Suddenly, a kick from his father's boot was dealt into his side, knocking the air out of Draco's lungs and causing him to topple over. Before he could speak, his father beat him to it.

"_Crucio!_ "

Draco was now curled into a ball on the ground, writhing in agony once more; the feeling that he was being burned alive growing more intense. He could practically feel his eyes being pushed out of their sockets against his eyelids, limbs being torn one by one from his body. Someone was pulling his hair out in large patches, and another was stabbing him repeatedly. Somehow over this pain, he could just barely make out his father's words.

"Oh believe me, Draco, I could kill you now and not have one guilty thought about it," Lucius hissed. "You are a disgrace to this family. You don't deserve to be a Malfoy, nor do you even deserve the second chance I just gave you. Why, I should kill you now. No one turns their back on the Dark Lord and gets away with it." He paused, letting his words sink in for a moment and staring at struggling son.

"Ah…but that would just be too easy, wouldn't it? You see, killing you now would be a mercy blow compared to what I'm capable of." Draco was now aware that his father had bent down so the tip of his wand was pressing into Draco's side, causing even more pain.

"I'm going to take away anything and everything close to you, I'm going to kill anyone who stands in my way. Your going to be bled dry from the inside out, and by the time I even _get_ to disowning you, I'm going to torture you to such extremities that you are going to be _begging me to die._" His words mixed with Draco's whimpering, and adding an extra effect. He stood them, abruptly lowering his wand and watching his son struggle to breath. There was a dribble of blood running down his chin; Draco had bitten his lip quite hard to keep from screaming.

"Look at you. All snivelling and useless on the floor. Get up!" Lucius snapped, and when Draco did not comply he kicked him in the side again. Draco's head hit the stone floor and he couldn't tell if the cracking noise that responded was the break of the stone or his skull. The metallic taste of blood was prominent in his mouth, and he saw spots dancing in front of his eyes as he gasped like a madman for breath. He wished he would just black out, he wouldn't have to listen to Lucius much longer than.

"Useless." His father remarked once more, removing a flask from his robes and taking a swing. Before his son's eyes Lucius had become Narcissa Malfoy - the woman that Draco absolutely had adored. Despite the fact that Draco was struggling to just remain conscious he felt a twinge of anger shoot through him. How dare he! How dare his father use his mother as a guise to get into Hogwarts! The thought of his father wreaking havoc amongst whomever he felt while under the disguise of Narcissa made him furious as well as slightly disgusted. He didn't have time to react however, as he heard his father curse at him in his low voice still.

Lucius spat on his son, before transfiguring the cane in his hands into a necklace, fastening that around his neck, and then placing the wand into the pocket of the cloak. He left the room as Narcissa, leaving Draco sputtering and gasping in a ball on the floor with a splitting headache.

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**A/n:** Despite the fact that I scared my friend to death while letting her read this, I like the way this turned out.

"Now I give you one last chance" - Phantom of the Opera of course! As is the chapter title.

**Thank you to:** Orlaith (Robyn), for being ever so awesome as always. Like literally guys, if you haven't already - go check out her fics. One word: amazing. Tijana, for making yourself bleed because you were in suspense. P and Viki, who read this...well…because I made her. (and had a hard time with the words. D)


	7. Mine

Of The Sorrows 

**Chapter Seven: **Mine

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Lucius Malfoy was angry.

No, more than angry in the eyes of the young girl before him. Of course Deirdre couldn't exactly see very much due to the fact she refused to look the elder man in the eyes. It was these tiny acts of rebellion that made her feel as if she had some control over her life. Not only was she staring at the dingy, grimy floor of the Potions Supply Closet, but she was rather uncomfortable as well. Digging into her back were the oddly shaped edges of the containers that held various potions ingredients, as well as some other things she cared not to look at. It was hard to tell which was easier to break at the moment – the glass containers, or Deirdre's fragile vertebrae? Large leather bound hands had placed themselves on either side of her and she could hear the ragged huffing that was Lucius' breathing. She was trapped and she was afraid. She of course knew what was coming: death. She had failed. He would kill her of course… oh, and what a bitter end she would have…

Yet she refused to shoot even a curious glance upwards into the pale, pointed face and unmerciful grey eyes of the man whom she seemed unable to escape from. She knew something had gone wrongfor he was far more livid than usual. In her mind the best thing to do right now was keep silent, she just knew something was about to happen.

"Nothing was accomplished." Three words spoken in frustration and malice; three words that made Deirdre's heart sink. " I _Why_ /I was nothing done?" demanded the blonde. She could feel his gaze boring into her as he spoke. Weakly, she shook her head.

"I didn't have en-enough time to speak to him a-about it, Sir. It wasn't… well… er… it wasn't a good start." Was her soft response to his question. Her voice lacked any emotion save for the traces of fear left in her slightly squeaky tone of voice.

"And why not? I gave you a month! A month! Why didn't he come to you? Why didn't you make him? I thought for sure his greedy, little hands would be after you in a second –"

"Your son's not stupid, Sir."

At this Lucius spat, "Hardly a son any longer, pathetic waste of life." There was a pause then and a new idea seemed to appear to the wizard as he looked Deirdre over. Perhaps she was still useful to him, and by the look on his face it appeared he definitely thought so. A semblance of a smirk slithered its way across his face for a moment as Deirdre felt a gloved hand lifting her tapered chin and causing her to make direct eye contact with Lucius Malfoy.

Against her will, a chill ran down her spine.

"Never mind that blunder, Deirdre, my pet. I have something rather different in mind." While he kept the smirk, Deirdre bit her lip in an attempt to mask any sort of facial expression. However, under his sharp gaze doing so proved nearly impossible to her. Watching her for a moment, Lucius noted her feeble attempts but continued anyway.

"Draco still presumes you to be under the surname Ashcroft?" Faintly she nodded as his hand left her chin.

"He had no inclination of your real surname?"

Another nod. At least she thought so. There was that time in Charms class, but she figured that wasn't really anything to give herself away. This time Lucius nodded along with her. "Good, good. Now listen to me, I have a new role for you to play in my little game here. A much bigger, stronger role. You realize you cannot say no?" he started, a brow raised in question.

"Y-yes, sir, but I don't see how—"

"Hush. In event, you will be useful. You are to get close to Draco – Lure him in – so to speak. Find his resources, his secrets, weaknesses, friends, lovers – everything. You are to know absolutely every last detail. I want anything you learn to be reported to me. I of course will be keeping in touch by owl and visits here by passageway. This task shouldn't be too hard. Not for you, my pet, you're a pretty one; you're lucky you have those looks too. Otherwise I doubt you'd be of use to anyone," he finished.

Deirdre pretended to ignore the obvious blow to her character, and finally spoke up, her mind buzzing with questions. "But, sir, why –"

"Do I _not_ /I !" she was cut off by the harsher tone of Lucius now. "Do not question me, Miss. Avery. Do not speak unless spoken to. You wouldn't enjoy what I could do to that sweet face of yours if you made me angry. You won't like me angry. Remember my dear, you're mine." He spoke sharply, obviously beginning to feel particularly vicious towards Deirdre now. As he spoke, his face was level and merely inches from hers. She found herself shivering once more at the look in his cold eyes. There was no emotion, and his low snarling voice reminded her of a wolf. "You're mine and you belong to me. I _ I own /I _ you," he repeated.

In her heart, and also much to her dismay, Deirdre knew this was true. She had let herself be reassured by false promises – let herself be thrown around like a rag doll. The poor girl had watched her own father pawn his only child off on Lucius Malfoy in exchange for the promise of his own safety. She of course blamed herself. Deidre cursed herself for being such a foolish child. She could have spoken up or herself, after all she had a voice. She just wasn't sure how to use it. She could have run away and found someone to help her. Still, one question lingered in her mind – who would believe her? Her answer? Well that was simple: no one. Hogwarts had started to change her, but she was still the scared little girl she seemed when she entered. She was still so naïve, so withdrawn… so pathetic.

Taking an odd delight in the girl's carefully calculating expression of misery, Lucius knew she had other thoughts and smirked once more. "Thinking otherwise, are you?" he drawled in a tone that seemed to show amusement, a laid-back chuckle leaving his lips. He looked down at Deidre and saw the smallest hint of rebellion behind her trembling gaze. She was so easy to read that he didn't even need legimency. "Let me put it this way, my dear." He answered and reached down to her arm, which was trembling at her side. Lifting the bony limb easily there was a ripping sound as he tore a good bit of fabric from her sleeve. Deirdre stared, confused.

"Let me see your hand."

One hand held tightly to the girl's dainty wrist and another quickly drew a small dagger from his boot. He almost laughed at Deirdre's expression of horror when she saw the weapon and tensed. Deftly he cut a small slit into her index finger to draw enough blood to drip onto the fabric held in his other hand. He shook his head at the girl's whimpering.

"Oh do be quiet, will you? I'm sure you've dealt with far worse." He spoke casually to her, like he would when speaking to one of his servants. All the while he held the slightly bloody cloth in front of him with the tip of his wand now touching it.

I "_Speculum Ostendo_" /I 

There was a moment when Lucius' hand was hidden by a swirling mist of many different tones, all blending together around the cloth to form into something completely different. Deirdre watched in fascination – she was never one for transfiguration.

When it was your own image that could be seen through his clutches, the fascination was tenfold.. Lucius held a small china doll dressed in its own set of tiny Slytherin robes. The doll bore almost an exact resemblance to Deirdre herself. She looked the thing over in disbelief for a moment before a frown came to her face – as one did upon the doll's. At this she tensed. The facial expression of the toy unnerved her, particularly its eyes. They stared back at her with a most unfathomable gaze. Tiny hazel orbs that were so drastic against her pale face that she could spend all day lost in that precise, piercing gaze. They seemed to show that although the girl herself was lost, she had seen quite a bit beyond her age. Although she was wondering, she was wise, and however weak she was, she understood her flaw. The doll's eyes showed her vulnerability and helplessness. Her thoughts would have gone on forever – on to her delicate defined features, eyes too big, lips too pale, however she was interrupted by the voice of her companion once more.

"This, Miss. Avery, is you. I daresay it's a perfect likeness. Right down to your shivering." He held the doll aloft by its tiny porcelain wrist with the look of a merchant examining priceless goods. "Let's make this clear, shall we? You help me and comply with my requests, play the part I ask of you, and you stay taken well care of." There was a pause now. "But kitten, things can go both ways. You see here how easy it is for me to control you? Surely you know that if you displease me in anyway I can just as easily…let…you…slip?"

She watched as with each word he raised a finger from the doll's wrist at an antagonizing slow pace, his brow rose inquisitively. Deidre jumped as the thing plummeted to the stone ground, shattering into a hundred shards of porcelain. Just as she was staring back at her from Lucius' hand, she was now in broken on the floor. This was all too creepy for her, and her head was spinning as her temper and nerves finally took hold of her.

"Stop it!" she finally exclaimed in a sharp trill of a voice – surprised at hearing her own tone. Was that really her telling Lucius Malfoy to stop? From those two words she felt a tiny surge of power and dodged around him, taking advantage of the fact he was occupied with the doll.

"I beg your pardon?"

Deirdre looked over her shoulder now to see Lucius stepping back up to her, his expression having changed from his manipulating smirk into one of a calm anger. A volcano waiting to erupt – and Deidre, still too headstrong in her tiny triumph, let herself stand there and actually defend herself.

"Forgive me, sir, but I am in no way a doll nor obliged to your service. I hardly think I should be forced to pay for my father's mistakes. And so, sir, I refuse to let you ridicule me in this way, when you are simply angry that…that…that I you /I failed the Dark Lord!" The words flew out of Deirdre's mouth now as if she were the volcano. It shocked her, and made her excited and scared at the same time. Had she really just done that? The rush that had gone to her head made her feel bright and bold, someone entirely different and cocky. A girl who knew her way around, and who knew what she wanted and just how she could get it. Glimpses of the witch she wanted to be.

" I What! /I " It was a hiss, as deadly and venomous as the snake about to strike and Deirdre hardly had time to look up before the sound of leather hitting skin reached her eardrums. Her cheek stung from the impact of his gloved hand, her neck snapped back for a moment as she staggered slightly.

Upon instinct her eyes shut tight for she knew what was coming next. Threats and insults and offers all blended furiously into a drone that blocked out all sounds. Fervently Deirdre tried to imagine she was that girl again, that powerful and know-it-all witch who wouldn't let men like Lucius control her. She struggled against the pain of his stinging gloves to try to grasp onto that heady rush that had engulfed her a moment earlier. She wanted that feeling again – she needed it. She needed to know that she could make things better. But the blows kept coming though and finally she succumbed to Lucius Malfoy's anger, imagining herself the shattered doll version of Deirdre Elizabeth Avery.

She awoke in the hospital wing.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- -- -- -- --- --

Draco awoke in the hospital wing.

An unfocused and blurry gaze greeted a throbbing head as he stared straight ahead towards the high ceilings of the infirmary. Merlin, it was too fucking sunny to be awake. What time was it anyway? Why on earth was he lying on such a ratty cot? He shifted and tried to sit but fell back with a groan, every inch of his body stung when he moved.

_ I "Feels like I'm bloody laying on broken glass," /I _ he mused silently, blinking a few times. His foggy vision started to clear as he remembered.

The unpleasant memories that flooded back to his brain made him groan again and throw his arm over his eyes, shaking his head. What had he done this time? Another choice of course – but was it really the right one? To deny the Dark Lord and his father a second time? What of the next time? If there was a fourth? With a grunt he realized there might not even be a third time if Lucius was set in keeping his promise.

"Merlin," he muttered, since he was unable to really process much more thought.

Yet he found that a weight had finally begun to lift from his chest. There was to be no more pretending, no longer did he have to lie to his family. There would be no more long hours of standing in front of the mirror, wondering what he was getting himself into. It felt like finally he was paving his own way and wasn't bound by his father's rule. He was breaking free.

But as that weight was lifted another took its place. This one was something entirely different, more threatening. For with this weight Draco realized he wouldn't be worrying about displeasing his father – he would be fearing for his life. His future now was to die for his freedom unless a miracle happened.

Some people say you can't change your fate – that it's set in stone from the moment of your birth. Draco let a small smirk waver on his pointed face, for he had just proved them wrong. After all, he was a Malfoy. Draco had known where he was headed from he beginning and it had taken seventeen years to realize that that life of a Death Eater – a murderer – was not the one he wanted. Draco didn't want his father's life. This time, he knew he had beaten his destiny and strayed from the path of the Malfoys. Couldn't he do it a third time? Lucius had made it more than clear how Draco was no longer fit to be his son. He couldn't have this easy could he? No, instead of simply disowning the boy he had to develop some elaborate scheme to torture him. I "_Always for show," /I _ he noted. The cocky attitude that Draco held while in the halls of Hogwarts was beginning to settle again as he felt stronger. Hell, he could elude his father. Lucius could hardly do anything while being one of the Wizarding World's most wanted fugitives. It wasn't like he could be acquitted so easily. Draco was sure that he could beat his father at his own game, now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a body next to his. Turning his head a brow rose in curiously. What could I _she /I _ possibly be doing here? The potions along her bed were identical to the ones he was taking for his own bruises and pain. As he recognized this, a small chuckle escaped his lips. Did she trip in those "fashionable" new shoes? Or was someone finally so fed up that they pushed her down a moving staircase? Whoever – whatever – it was, he applauded them. Finally managing to sit up he gave the sleeping girl an once-over. Deidre seemed to be sleeping peacefully, lips parted with russet hair covering one side of her face, small frame rising and falling steadily. He paused, something about the sleeping girl before him made him look closer at her. Something about the simplicity of it, the raw beauty – she reminded him slightly of Narcissa. Deidre shifted and then moved in her sleep, the curtain of hair falling back to the pillow to reveal a rather large angry mottled spot on her cheek. A very nasty bruise.

Draco winced, his previously intrigued expression turning into one of disgust. So this was the girl he had been dreaming about. What I _had /I _ she been doing to earn that? Surely her belongings might give something away? But the bedside table that held a mixture of both Draco's and Deidre's things held nothing out of the ordinary. His eye caught on a small maroon book however, and he quickly lifted it from the table. Clearly he wasn't one to respect another's privacy. Opening to the last marked page, he noticed her neat bubbly cursive and began to read.

_ I "November 18th, 1997: _

Sometimes I wish I was really more of a poet. Or just good at something really. Maybe if I had better writing skills I could find the word to describe the feeling – that cold, sick one – when you know something will change you forever. Something drastic. Something will change you and you're not sure if you want it to – but you can't stop it. And you know for the first time that you will never be quite the same person you were before... " /I 

Draco paused in his reading for the entry was dated today. That meant she had been awake before him – and she hadn't left? But then again, with a bruise like that he figured she'd be in here for a while. Needless to say he was interested and wanted to know what all this nonsense was about.

_ I "…I'm in the hospital wing while I write this and I know that things are never going to go back to how they were. Yet somehow I keep thinking that if I was a little smarter, a little bolder, a little prettier – a little like the girl I've always wanted to be – maybe he would have changed his mind. I guess I've gotten good at telling myself lies then. I can see him right now and know that I have to help ruin his life to preserve mine. _

I think I can remember when all I cared about was that the sun shined when I went walking between lessons with Auntie. I don't really know what I've gotten myself into. All I'm stuck with is the pain, and the lies, the curses, and the words that were spoken. I can't stand it – it makes me see how weak I am. I mean you can't remember how to think or even breathe because there is nothing but the pain and all you want is your sunshine back. I think that's all I really want anyway. Sunshine and freedom." /I 

Draco found himself almost disappointed when there was no more writing. If he hadn't seen this was Deidre's journal he would have been completely infatuated with its author. Yet however he agreed with her writing, and however similar they might seem, Draco sneered to think that she had written this. And who were these nameless people?

"What are you doing!"

Draco jumped as he looked up, still holding the book in his hand. Deidre stared over at him, sitting now and looking furious. Draco slowly arched a brow and smirked.

"Playing with hippogriffs," he drawled sarcastically, "What does it look like I'm doing, I'm bloody reading."

"You have absolutely no right to touch my things!" she snapped, stumbling out the bed ungracefully and hurrying to collect her things. Impulsively, Draco's hand shot out to protect his own possessions when his finger caught on something.

"What in the name of…" He heard Deirdre muse, and he glanced over at her before back down to his finger. Draco's Celtic serpent ring had locked into the claws of the raven on Deidre's necklace. Upon closer inspection the eternity knots lined up perfectly to form one interwoven 3D maze. The girl in front of him shook her head, tugging the chain of the necklace. For a while it wouldn't budge until she applied great force and twisted it away from the snake, fastening it about her neck in a hurry. Snatching the journal from Draco's hands, she snapped it shut.

"Haven't you ever heard of privacy? Sweet Circe, you're such a jerk!" she snarled, anger and embarrassment flashing through her eyes. Draco couldn't help but smirk. I _Jerk?_ /I What was she, four?

"Ouch. That was a killer, are you going to call me a butthead now too?"

Deidre stood there a moment, staring at Draco as a thousand biting remarks that she could shoot back at him came to mind. She paused however, remembering Lucius' words and instead just pursed her lips. "Parkinson was in here earlier," she responded curtly, before striding out of the Hospital wing a right mess, bruises still intact. Hell, the girl could hardly walk. Draco actually laughed at this. Once more, it seemed he had won.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

b **A/n: ** /b This chapter wouldn't have been finished had it not been for the ceaseless s whining /s I mean, coaxing of my friends and beta – whom really does not get the credit she deserves for putting up with this. (:

b Translation: /b " I speculum ostendo" /I translates directly to "mirror reveals"


End file.
